


Stickin' To The Right

by Duck_Life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Hell, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Hell, the scariest stories are about two boys in a black Impala. Oneshot. Please R&R! Title from AC/DC's "Hells Bells".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stickin' To The Right

In a hole in Hell, Rose marches into her son Heath's room and wrinkles her nose at the filth on the floor. "Heath?" she sighs, shaking him awake. "Heath,  _how_ many times have I told you to sweep every night?"

Rolling over and out of bed, he mumbles something unintelligible and skitters across the floor for the broom while Tanner leers from the doorway. "You know what happens to little boys who don't sweep their floors?" He grins, wickedly. "The Winchesters get 'em."

"Oh, Tanner, stop antagonizing your brother," Rose snaps, her eyes flashing black in irritation. "Hurry off to school, you've got that test on Chinese water torture, right?" Tanner grumbles and slips away from the door. "And Heath, I want this floor spotless before you leave. Like the Devil's coming for dinner, you hear?"

* * *

At school, when Tanner passes the girl who sits in front of him in Lit he flips a lock of her hair and mutters, "Smellin' nice, is that sulfur?"

"Go to Heaven," she says with a jet black stare as he snickers and slides into his seat. The class is boring, mostly discussing  _Mein Kamf_ , but it gets interesting when they get to the theology essays due next week and one girl raises her hand and says she's doing hers on Sam Winchester.

"Because he wasn't all bad," she explains in a quiet voice. "I mean, he did some good things right? Like freeing Lucifer?" A hush falls on the class, the teacher straightens up, probably planning on calling her parents later. Tanner wonders if those parents are a pair of those Cult of Samuel freaks, decides he doesn't really care, and focuses on carving a swastika into the corner of his desk with the tip of his nail.

* * *

After class, Tanner's friend Greg brings up the Winchesters again. "I mean, those are some freaky sons of bitches, you know?"

"Shut up," he sighs, bored with it all. "I don't get the big deal. They've been dead for ages."

"Dude, Winchesters don't die," Greg says, sounding so serious it makes Tanner laugh.

" _Judas_ , man, you're such a spawn."

As he's walking back home, Tanner stumbles upon his little brother moping on the front steps. "Hey, why aren't you with your buddies?"

"We were playing Winchesters and Leviathans," he grouches. "And they made me be Bobby Singer."

Tanner laughs. "Aw, cheer up," he says, lifting Heath up with an arm and walking him in for dinner- Mom promised lamb's blood. "Maybe next time you'll get to be Dick Roman and you can kill the guy being Bobby Singer."

* * *

Later that night, when Rose walks into her youngest son's room again to say goodnight, she finds him crying. Demon or not, he's her son and her job is to make him feel better, so she strides in and settles onto the bed next to him. "What's wrong?"

"I accidentally dropped Tanner's knives and he called me a- a Sam Winchester." The kid sounds broken up about it, and she slips an arm around his shoulders and rocks him back and forth a bit to stop the tears, humming gently to him the same lullaby she always does.

"Oh, that's okay," she promises. "It's not even that bad. In fact, you know why we're all sealed in and safe down here?"

He looks up at her imploringly, eyes still heavy with tears. "Why?"

"Because Sam Winchester locked up Hell and kept us all safe," she tells him. "So you see, he wasn't all bad like in the stories. Everyone can do good things and bad things."

When he smiles at her, she smiles back and tucks him into bed, lying down next to him and running a hand over his arm to get him to sleep better. "Mommy," he whispers, "some kids today said you used to be… to be a human."

"Mm-hm," she murmurs. "A lot of us were."

"Did you have a human name?"

"Mm-hm," she says. "Can't remember it now. Think it started with an 'M'." He nods, and she goes back to humming to him. It sounds like "Hey Jude."


End file.
